might be dangerous to pursue an angekok,
he gave up the idea, and resumed his northward route.

For two days more the wizard continued his journey, encamping each night
at sunset, eating his supper apart, making his bed of bearskins in the
lee of a shrub or under the shelter of an overhanging cliff, and leaving
his captives to make themselves comfortable as best they could on the
sledge. This they did without difficulty, all of them being well
accustomed to rough it, and having plenty of bear and deerskins to keep
them warm. The dogs also contributed to this end by crowding round the
party, with deep humility of expression, as close as they were allowed
to come.

At the end of these two days an incident occurred which totally changed
the aspect of affairs.

On the morning of the third day they started with the dawn, and drove
steadily southward for a couple of hours. They had just traversed a
small bay, and were close to the high cape which formed its southern
extremity, when one of the bars of the sledge broke, rendering a halt
necessary. Breaking the gloomy silence which he had so long maintained,
the wizard spoke:

"Go," he said, "cook some food under the cliffs there. I will mend the
sledge."

The women replied, not by words, but by the more emphatic method of at
once obeying the order. Kabelaw seized and shouldered a large piece of
raw seal's flesh. Nunaga took up little Pussi with one hand, and the
materials for producing fire with the other, and followed her companion.
Tumbler brought up the rear, staggering under the weight of the
cooking-lamp.

They had only a couple of hundred yards to go. In a few minutes Kabelaw
was busy under the cliffs producing fire, in the usual Eskimo fashion
with two pieces of dry wood, while her friend set up the lamp and sliced
the meat. The children, inheriting as they did the sterling helpful
propensities of their parents, went actively about, interfering with
everything, in their earnest endeavours to assist.

"Isn't he strange?" remarked Kabelaw, glancing in the direction of
Ujarak, as she diligently twirled the fire-stick between her palms; "so
different from what he was."

"I think," said Nunaga, pouring oil into the lamp, "that he is sorry for
what he has done."

"No; him not sorry," said Tumbler, as he assisted Pussi to rise, for she
had tripped and fallen; "him not sorry--him sulky."

Kabelaw took no notice of this juvenile observation, but, blowing the